An Atlas in Hand
by skiesinlove
Summary: Here, we meet Shion-taking a gap year from uni to travel Europe-and Nezumi, a not-so-humble gypsy; our emotionally inept lovers.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: In Which we Meet Shion-A Nice Boy from Boring Nowhere**

Taking a year away from his studies made Shion nervous, probably irrationally so. It felt like he was abandoning something; his education, his friends, his mother, his responsibilities, his home. Collapsing on his bed, Shion let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes. What was it that Safu said yesterday? They were sitting outside together, lounging away the afternoon on the swings near Safu's apartment complex.

"_I don't think I want to do this_," _Shion murmured to the ground._ "_I don't think I can go on my own."_

_ "Why?" Safu asked, dragging her toes across the gravel below the swing set. "You're seventeen, you've always been in the gifted program you're smart…"_

_"And I know nothing about the rest of the world outside of Nox. Not personally, anyway," Shion argued, rubbing his hands nervously up and down the swing's chains, noting the cool feel of the metal against his sweaty palms._

_"So? It'll be a good learning experience for you," Safu noted._

_"You don't throw an infant into a lake to see if it can swim," Shion retorted, tightening his grip on the steel links._

_"It's a good thing you aren't an infant then," Safu pointed out, crunching the small stones beneath her shoes. "I'm not going to let you back out now. You've already bought your ticket and everything. If you aren't on that plane on Monday morning, I will come to your house and murder you. I know how to make it look like an accident."_

Sighing, Shion opened his eyes—his distressed surroundings pulling him back into the present. Logically, he knew Safu was right; Shion wasn't helpless, and he'd already spent the money of a plane ticket. Shion's mother put some of her savings into a card and an international phone plan so Shion could access money and call home while he was away. Leaving didn't mean saying goodbye and never coming back to Nox. Everything in his life seemed to be holding its breath, gesturing him forward.

So why, the night before his 9am flight, was he still sitting on his bed beside an unpacked suitcase? It was all wrong.

Shion's room was generally immaculate—it could have put a surgical ward to shame. One could expect to see the closet organized by clothing type and color, the floors spotless, and the bed made as though an interior designer were showcasing the space. Even having his pens out of order in their cup on his desk filled him with prickling irritation.

Now, there were clothes dressing the carpet handsomely in a rainbow of blazers and ties, while cat vomit hugged the rest of the floor in a brown gooey mass. Shion lay amongst a nest of sheets sprawled out over the bed. He reeked of three days' worth of sweat; a scent like that of a decaying corpse gripping his body. The clothes he'd worn for that long sagged away from him as if trying to escape from the smell.

Surveying the chaos, Shion felt an odd mixture of panic and indifference. The sheer disorder of the room overwhelmed him into a state of apathy. There were just so many things wrong that he couldn't bring himself to clean any of it up.

He wanted to cancel. It wasn't illegal to rip up one's boarding pass and not show up to a flight—some needy waitlisted passenger might actually appreciate the open seat. Eyeing the slip of paper that read "London", he contemplated the choice before him. Just like everything else for the past few days, though, he found he couldn't act on the impulse.

What was wrong with him? Shion had never been particularly good at making spur-of-the moment decisions, preferring to carefully calculate his actions before performing them. Yet here he sat, at a loss for what to do next. He hadn't booked a single hostel. He hadn't figured out transportation from country to country. He hadn't planned any sightseeing or travels to specific landmarks. It was completely out of character and stupid and…

Reckless. It was utter recklessness driving Shion's actions, and it was so unlike him that the boy himself couldn't believe it for a second. He'd never been reckless before in his life, save for the time he ditched school because Safu's grandmother died and she had a bit of an emotional upheaval. Shion's own actions seemed foreign to him, as if a sadistic puppeteer were choreographing his movements.

Still, there was something innately desirable about the prospect of adventure. The idea of venturing into the unknown scared the living bageezums out of him, but beneath the initial terror something else clenched his heart. If Shion had to name that feeling, he would probably have called it excitement. What he was doing was so _different_ than his entire life leading up to that point. It was time for a change, he decided resolutely. No more waiting on the sidelines, no more sitting around Nox waiting for life to happen. If he wanted life, he would have to go out there and chase it.

Within the hour, his suitcase was filled with everything he needed (he knew because he'd literally combed through the entire house _twice _to make certain he hadn't missed anything), his room was tidy, and he was freshly showered. Flopping down on the sheets that smelled newly of lavender and comfort, Shion stared up at the ceiling with a sigh. Despite his newfound resolve, the idea of going out there on his own and leaving everything he knew behind wasn't something he enjoyed. He couldn't sleep, so he decided to get up and busy himself.

Every horrible scenario filled his head as he obsessively packed, unpacked, and repacked his suitcase over and over again. He would get kidnapped in England, robbed in France, mugged in Italy, lost forever in Spain, and retract some horrible foreign illness in Germany.

The odd thing was, he didn't usually obsess himself into a stream of paranoia. He was compulsive and anal retentive, he admitted that much, but obsessive? Not usually, at least not to this extent. He needed to do something to clear his head or he thought he might burst. His thoughts chased themselves in circles through his mind, interrupted only by something banging against his windows.

Shion sat up. How long had it been storming outside? A violent wind howled relentlessly against the flexible glass of Shion's windows. The glass bent to its will, bowing inward as the gale pressed hard against it. Shion flung them wide, inviting the desperate air into his room. Whipping his clothes about him, the wind danced with him, caressing his body, his hands, his face. There was something wonderful in the wind that night, something Shion found alluring and otherworldly. As the storm raged outside of him, the storm inside of him quieted slightly.

There was something inexplicable in the air as Shion lost himself to its gentle touch. A soothing stream of thoughts—hopeful thoughts about the experiences and adventures he would have, about all the things he might learn and grow from—evicted the worries inside his mind, even as he shut the windows. These thoughts cradled him, soothing him at last to sleep.

"Are you sure you have everything?" Shion's mother asked, serving him a stack of his favorite blueberry pancakes. They were golden-brown and drenched in an unnecessary amount of syrup. It was a parting gift.

"Pretty sure," Shion mumbled through a delicious mouthful of his mother's homemade batter.

"Just pretty sure?" Karan stressed, brow furrowed.

"It—I was being facetious, mother."

"Well, don't worry me. You're going away for a whole year. I don't know why I even agreed to this in the first place."

"Because I'm an adult now?"

"Yes, well, you've never even been outside the city. Do you have your wallet?"

"Wallet, passport, atlas, half my closet, and enough toiletries for a small country, mother."

"Good, good," Karan said, seating herself across from her son and starting in on her own breakfast.

It suddenly hit Shion that this was the last time he would enjoy his mother's cooking for a very long time. He'd grown up on her sweets; honestly it was a wonder he wasn't obese. Although though Shion stuffed himself four of those plate-sized pancakes he felt an inexplicable emptiness in his stomach when they were gone.

Shion could tell his mother was as nervous as he was. She sat there tapping her feet on the linoleum of the dining room, drumming her fingers on the table between bites. He couldn't really blame her, either. After all, Shion's entire life had been based in this bustling Japanese city; the only bits of information he held about the outside world were from books and TV shows. That, however, was what had driven him to kind of plan this trip in the first place.

After finishing off the last crumbs of his breakfast, Shion spent a considerable amount of time in the bathroom preparing himself for his trip. Studying his face, he debated how much of his appearance to conceal on his trip. Normally, a small touch of makeup over the red snake of a scar, just on his face and neck, satisfied him.

Shion leaned forward, prodding the sensitive red mark on his cheek disapprovingly. Couples with his disturbingly maroon eyes and Yeti-like tuft of white hair, the sight of Shion was frightening. How on earth Safu could think anyone would find these "exotic" features attractive was beyond him. In any case, his appearance would certainly invite unwanted questions, which he certainly didn't want as he traveled abroad alone.

He'd already packed his extensive collection of beanies away, so it took himself several minutes of careful rummaging to not disturb the meticulously folded contents inside. Finally, he pulled out a sapphire woven cap that Safu's grandmother had made for him many years ago. Tucking as much of the unruly hairs underneath the beanie as he could manage, Shion studied himself again. It was all as normal as he would get it—save for the eyes, but there was nothing to be done there. With a grim, excited resolution, Shion hoisted his bag onto its wheels and clattered his way clumsily downstairs.

His mother had talked him through how to check his bags and board the airline over ten times, but that didn't stop her from going over it one more time as they were driving to the airport. Knowing that it was her way of comforting herself, he listened patiently and obediently repeated all of the things she'd told him. Though she wasn't supposed to, she got out of the car when they pulled up to the curb designated for departures.

They shared a long embrace, Shion relishing in the mix of flowery perfume and freshly baked bread that made Karan's smell so comforting to Shion. A few wet drops fell from Shion's eyes without his consent, spattering on the concrete like raindrops. A few sniffles told him that he wasn't the only one crying, either.

"Promise to write?" Karan demanded, still holding her son close. "And you can text. I don't mind paying the extra fee for it."

"Of course, mother," Shion promised, allowing Karan to continue her hold.

"If I don't get a letter at least once a week, I'll worry."

"I know. I'll make sure to write."

"And call. Like I said, extra fees—"

"I know. I love you, Mother."

"I love you, Shion."

When Karan finally let go, her eyes were suspiciously dry: Shion wondered if that's why she'd held onto him for so long. Giving him a wistful smile—forced, Shion noted guiltily—she waved him off as Shion dragged his suitcase out of sight and into the tangled unknown mass of strangers going on their own adventures.

Somehow, despite all of his mother's preparation, he still managed to get lost in the vast expanses of the airport. Three separate times he stepped out of whatever crowd he was following to ask anyone looking official enough where to go next. Glad that he'd given himself ample time to blunder, Shion somehow managed to find the way to his gate: an enormous sign hanging above it with the words Japanese Air scrawled in neat type across it. The only possessions he carried on his person were a camera, a phone, his passport, a small atlas, and his wallet. Everything else was being loaded up in the cargo bay of the enormous airliner already waiting outside on the tarmac.

There was no turning back now. Still, with the city rising grandly in the distance, all flashing lights and skyscrapers stretching their weary hands to the heavens, Shion felt at peace. He'd finally left. Sitting down, waiting for his section to be called to board, Shion knew with absolute certainty that he was where he was supposed to be. It was new, exciting, daring, and he hoped beyond hope that he would be able to lose himself in whatever lay under that big blue sky beyond the waters of the East Sea.

And he hoped that he would find himself before he returned.


	2. Chapter 2

p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"strongChapter 2: In Which we Meet Nezumi-A Mysterious Boy from Who-Knows-Where/strong/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Flying was one of the most intense experiences Shion had ever put himself through. During takeoff, in that split second when it felt like he was simultaneously floating and being punched in the gut, he thought for sure he would be ill. Thankfully, the contents of his stomach decided they weren't ready to make the trek to the outside world yet.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"As much as it was physically disorienting, it was metaphysically awe-striking. The kind patron next to him generously traded his good window seat for a nice meal Shion bought with some of his traveling money. Though he knew that meant he wouldn't be getting lunch, it didn't much matter; the view was more than worth it.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Shion had never seen anything quite like it. As a child, he'd enjoyed special visits his mother made with him to visit some of her friends' offices on the top floor of the highest skyscraper in Nox. There was something intoxicating about the experience of being in the air: an uninhibited expanse of space stretching out before him, filling his lungs. turning his head inside out. His classes, his commitments, his worries all melted away into nothing, and even if just for one brief moment, he was free. He'd come to crave that exhilaration. p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"The view was even more intense in that tiny flying window frame than when he'd been able to see a panorama of the city radiating from all sides from on top of a building. Up in the air, the clouds drifting lazily below like sheep at pasture, the contrast of navy against azure where the ocean and sky collided at the horizon, the warm honey-sweet glow of the late morning sun throwing the scene into sharp relief; all of it sent chills up Shion's spine. p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"His face didn't move from that window for four hours. The only reason he eventually drew away was because the muscles in his neck began to twinge painfully. Massaging his trapezius, he dug through his pockets and pulled out the atlas he'd been given by Safu before he'd left.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emI know you don't really have anywhere specific you're thinking of going toem, she'd said to him with a small smile, embut I want you to have this so you don't get lost. It might even help you get some ideas on where to go./em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Feeling a smile spread across his lips, Shion put his tray down (he found all of these little quirks of riding on an airplane—like the movies and reclining seats—just about the most exciting things in the world) and flipped through the pages.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"It was incredibly detailed, as would be anything Safu gave Shion. There were political maps and descriptions of landmarks from nearly every country categorized by continent. Skimming through the intricate drawings, he found himself on the page where the general physical map of Europe was shown. Before he had time to admire the cartography, something fell out of the book and onto his tray.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"That something was a note, folded and scrawled with Shion's name across the front. He folded it open, excited because he knew it was from Safu and he missed her already. He read:p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%;"emDear Shion,em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emThis is really stupid that I had to do this in a letter but here it is. When you first told me that you were leaving, I was really excited (and a little jealous) because there were so many amazing things you were going to learn and do. But then I thought about the fact that you were leaving. Actually leaving Nox for the first time and it was an extremely odd thought for me because you were always the one I came home to when I returned from a trip abroad. I suppose the universe has a bit of irony in store for us, yes?em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emIt also made me very, very sad. At first I thought it was normal. You are my best friend and of course I was going to miss you. We wouldn't be able to sit on the swings by my apartment and talk for hours about calculus and quantum mechanics, or just about life in general. It will be a great tragedy for my life, even though you will be out having the most wonderful adventures.em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emBut these feelings I'm having…I don't believe they are normal feelings that friends have for one another, no matter how close. I find myself looking at you differently now than when we were children. I would attribute it to simply growing up, but I believe it's more than that. Growing up doesn't include having unconventional feelings about your best friend whenever he looks or smiles at you.em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emI think I'm in love with you, Shion. No, I'm quite sure. And it makes me sad to think about you leaving and not even being able to explain these emotions to you in person because I wasn't sure how to word it when we were face-to-face. I also don't know if you feel the same way about me. I'm guessing not. You're one of the most unguarded people I know—it's so easy for you to take care of the people you love. You may be a bit of an ass sometimes with strangers, but at least I know where you stand with me.em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"emMaybe we can sit down and talk when you get the chance. We can Skype. I just…want to see you Shion. I really want to see you.em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right; text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" align="right"emWith love,em/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: right; text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" align="right"emSafuem/p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Tears flowed from Shion's eyes, trickling down his nose and smudging the letters on the page. He wasn't sure how he felt about Safu's confession of love, but he did know he missed her very much. How did he feel about her? In all honestly it wasn't something Shion had ever thought about. He'd always thought of her like a sister, but could there have been something more underneath there, something romantic?p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"In spite of anything they might feel towards each other, he knew somewhere deep within his bones that they would always be friends. He missed her so much. Who would he talk to about all of his experiences: everything he saw and did that filled him with wonder?p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"His mother had offered to pay for overseas internet and cellular bills but he felt guilty with the thought of using them too often, so he knew he and Safu wouldn't get to speak much. He would write her letters, he decided, detailing the things that happened to him. He wasn't going to lose their friendship because to him. It was as precious as the love of his mother.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Careful to avoid his left cheek, Shion wiped his face dry and attempted to compose himself. Suddenly, he didn't feel much like looking through the atlas anymore. Closing the volume and putting it back in the small knapsack he'd brought as a carry-on, Shion leaned his head on the window and looked ahead. For the next eight hours—between napping and watching emBox Trollsem on the overhead monitors—Shion thought about Safu./p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;" align="center"-p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"It wasn't until Shion was standing by baggage claim, surrounded by darkly-clad strangers speaking in English almost too fast for him to understand, that Shion felt as though he were in a foreign country. The realization hit him like a brick, leaving him winded. He'd taken English in high school, and even considered himself fluent by the time he hit his third year. Yet with all of these people around him babbling in British slang he felt completely overwhelmed. It was as if he knew absolutely nothing about English at all.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"It wasn't just the language flooring him either. It finally came to his attention that he had absolutely nowhere to go and nowhere to stay that night. He had a card to access money, but no idea how or where to use it.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"He panicked. A constrictor wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Abandoning the conveyer belt spitting out the luggage from his plane, he looked wildly around for someone who looked like they worked at the airport.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"He bolted towards a gentleman with a nametag and a beret halfway across the baggage claim area.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Uh…do…any hostels near here?" Shion asked in faltering, alarmed English. "Nowhere to go tonight."p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Yes sir, there are several near Trafalgar Square. It's about an hour away, but perfect for travelers. Do you have a way to get there, sir? Any transportation?" the man asked with a friendly but expressionless face.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Shion shook his head, feeling tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. God, why hadn't he planned better? Now he was in the middle of the Heathrow airport speaking the worst English in the universe with no idea where to go or what to do with himself. He was a mess. He was never a mess, but right then, he was a mess.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Don't worry, we can arrange something for you then. I can show you how to get to the Tube if you'd like?" the man said quickly, probably sensing Shion's anxiety.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Taking a deep breath and choking back his fret, Shion nodded again at the man, who gave him the smallest smile.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Shion would fondly remember that day as the day he nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the Heathrow airport. After that, he felt a little more at ease with his entire situation. The kind man had given him directions to a train that left straight for central London from the airport, along with a brochure that listed several affordable hostels and inns.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Thankfully, Shion's English was slowly starting to come back to him once his pulse settled and the words he knew nestled safely into the strange British drawl. It wasn't exactly easy for him to understand everything that was happening, but at least he didn't feel completely lost anymore. Besides, he had his atlas, his brochure, and his bulging suitcase ready to go wherever his feet lead him.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"The "Tube" was much like the trains that ran through Nox back home—except exponentially less crowded. Compared to being sandwiched between sweaty businessmen and crying children, the arm's-length space between Shion and the other passengers felt like miles. He had enough room to comfortably set his bag beside him and peruse the brochure without hitting someone in the face with his elbows.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"There were 18 stops between Heathrow and the South Kensington station, so he had ample time to decide where he wanted to stay. Most of the hostels looked nearly identical to one another. The one closest to South Kensington with good reviews and low prices was Astor Hyde Park. It was about another 30 minute bus ride from there to Trafalgar Square, Shion discovered from the detailed maps of the underground. This particular hostel was also extremely close to a natural history museum, which sealed the decision for the white-haired boy.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Surprisingly enough to Shion, he got very few odd glances in the hour he spent on the Tube. People seemed to either not care or not notice the small shock of white peeking out from underneath the vibrantly blue beanie, or his wine-colored eyes. This was all fine by him: he'd rather slip through the Tube and to the hostel attracting the least amount of attention as physically possible.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"The rest of Shion's trip to the hostel was fairly uneventful. He got a room without any issue (though the receptionist didn't look away from his eyes once, which made Shion squirm in discomfort)—a quant, boarding school-style dormitory with about eight empty bunks. Glancing at the clock, Shion noted that it was only 3:30pm, though back at home it would have been half past 11pm. Exhaustion gripped his weary limbs, the bed beckoning his aching muscles with open arms. He fought the urge to collapse into the white sheets. He was in London, after all. This was no time to fall prey to something as petty as jet lag.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Leaving his bag with the ogling receptionist, Shion threw his favorite red coat on and made his way to Trafalgar Square. This time, the cars were more tightly packed with people who all seemed to be in a dull rush to get wherever they needed to be. It was still oddly different than the buses and trains in Nox. There, one couldn't even hear their own thoughts over the roar of conversation. On the London trains, it seemed like people didn't particularly care about those around them, preferring to keep to their phones and their books.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"With the conversation kept at nothing more than a murmur, Shion found it much easier to pick up bits of dialogue. Though the accent was still incredibly difficult for him to understand, he found himself comprehending more at an alarming rate as he eavesdropped on the tiny whispers around him. He knew it was rude, but he also really wanted to be able to communicate with people in Europe. Since most of them spoke English, he didn't really feel that bad about it.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Then he was off the Tube and walking down a street with old stone-faced buildings that entranced Shion with the majesty of their architectural history. Before he knew it, he'd hit the square. Or rather, the square hit him.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"No matter how much of a nerd Shion was, how much he researched, and how much he prepared, he realized that his senses had been dulled by a constant barrage of the same information. But here, they came to life again. Even here, in the monochrome of London, Shion felt as though he were in some sort of enchanted forest. So many people littered the square, donned in dark coats and umbrellas. Finally, he could look into a crowd and not recognize a single face and not have a single face recognize him. It was freeing and beautiful and he wanted to cry from all of the emotions flooding through his veins. Shion was alive, and there was music here and beauty and people and activity and he was entranced by all of it at once. That was, until he caught a glimpse of the only color in the plaza, and everything in him ceased.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Shion had never seen a street performer before, and didn't know that people dressed like this boy existed anymore. He wore a faded grey shirt and cargo pants embellished with two blindingly colorful patchwork scarves: one around his neck and the other around his hips. It was from him, at the other end of the square that the music emanated from.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Before he knew it, Shion's feet were carrying him like a chariot on the wind across the wet cobblestone of Trafalgar. A small crowd was already gathering around the mysterious street performer—a symphony of camera clicks accompanying them. Shion forced himself to the front of the crowd. He didn't bother to apologize as he elbowed people out of the way so he could see this dark-haired stranger.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"It was a man and his music. He didn't just play the instrument either: no, he danced with it, courted it, made it scream out in ecstasy from the touch of his fingertips and bow. In front of the entire square he made shameless love to his violin: an exhibitionist lusting for the erotic hums of the strings. Shion had never watched porn before, but as the man's feet clattered gracefully across the ground, as he begged for more and more from his fraying bow, all pounding in time with Shion's passionate, writhing heartbeat; it must have felt a lot like that.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"It was over too soon. The moment the man's music ceased, the square was thrown back into a deluge of neutral colors. Everyone dispersed after a short round of applause: some tossing money into a small tin set at the man's feet, some simply passing by. It was only a minute or two until Shion found himself alone with the dark-haired man. He would have left, gone with everyone else to see something else suggested by his atlas. And yet…he couldn't.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"He was drawn to this person; seduced by the hawk-like gleam in his silver eyes, the way his long fingers apologetically caressed the strings of his shredded bow before he set it down. Even the surroundings—the old shag rug, the well-loved cello, the enormous backpack laying in the background—were enchanting. It was like being thrown back in time, to somewhere like Romania filled with gypsies and vampires.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Can I help you?"p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"The voice practically made Shion jump out of his skin. He'd been so in awe of the ambiances and all of the beautiful antique colors blotting out the tedium of this section of the square that he hadn't noticed the performer had stopped to look at him.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""I… sorry?" Shion said, completely flustered.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Do you need something or do you just enjoy standing in squares with your mouth wide open?" the man asked, an eyebrow arched, his voice like a soothing rumble of thunder.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Oh! I was… I… like the stuff you have," Shion said quickly forgetting all of the English he'd picked up on the Tube that afternoon.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Thanks. You normally this articulate or is this an off-day?"p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;"Shion felt his face burst into flames.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""I'm…not here. I'm Japan? Uh…not good English?" he stammered, acutely aware of how much like an idiot he sounded.p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;" p  
>p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%;""Oh, okay then," the man said. Without missing a beat his mouth flew into such stunning Japanese Shion lost himself in surprise for a second. "In that case, welcome to London. I'm Nezumi."p 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: In Which Biscuits Become a Thing**

"You speak Japanese?" Shion asked dumbly. Of course that was the first thing to come out of his mouth.

"Yeah, among others," Nezumi said, shrugging his lean shoulders. "And who are you, Sir Open Mouth?"

"Shion, my name's Shion," Shion replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly. He was suddenly very aware of himself, tugging the beanie low over his brow and straightening out the cuffs on his jacket to conceal his wrists.

"Like the flower?" Nezumi asked, seating himself on his bags like a prince enthroned by old lumpy fabric.

"Yeah, my mom's always been really into gardening and such."

"Truly fascinating," Nezumi said, playing with the tuning keys on his violin with long, agile fingers.

"Well, your name is rat so I wouldn't be so conceited," Shion shot back.

Nezumi paused, something darkening in his eyes, and for a moment Shion really thought the raven-haired mystery would punch him into next week. Instead, he leaned back and burst out laughing.

"You're odd, Shion," he chuckled, returning to the meticulous tuning of his violin. "So, why are you in London?"

"It's…a long story," Shion said apprehensively.

"Fair enough."

"Do you live here?"

"No, I don't live anywhere."

"Wait, are you sleeping—"

"You know," Nezumi interrupted him without looking up, "you're really good at asking unnecessary questions."

"I'm curious," Shion shrugged, unfazed. "Will you be here for long?"

Nezumi sighed, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

"Until my fingers get too tired."

Nodding, Shion leaned against a plant in an enormous stone vase a few feet away from the dirty, royally embroidered carpet Nezumi was set up on. He folded his arms against the chill and turned his attention to the uniform activity of the square.

"You planning on standing there for the rest of the day?" Nezumi said sarcastically.

"I don't have anywhere else to go today."

Nezumi snorted, and Shion heard the faint rasping of bow on string as the man tested the success of his tuning. It sounded like silk.

Shion stayed there for the duration of the afternoon, and into the evening. It wasn't that he found himself suddenly uninterested in the rest of London; he just found himself more interested in Nezumi's music. It was drawing, otherworldly, and Shion listened to every note and watched every step without growing tired. Nezumi danced and played well into the night, until the street lights came on and flooded the square in light. The glowing orbs of yellow and orange reflected off the puddles on the stone like tiny suns gleaming around them.

After the last crowd died and faded into Trafalgar's shadows, Nezumi finally stopped.

"I'm impressed," Nezumi said, placing his violin into a worn-out leather case. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to stay this long."

"I like the way you perform," Shion replied simply.

Shion looked on as Nezumi gathered his things, rolling up his rug and tucking it into one of the straps of his oversized pack.

"I'm impressed too," Shion continued, shivering.

"What?"

"That you played all day. You're not even sweating."

"I do this a lot. And it's cold out here," Nezumi said modestly.

"Yeah but I mean, I had trouble walking here from the train station, but you just danced and played for…five hours."

_ Had it really been five hours?_

The time had flown by like the way Nezumi's hair fluttered around his face in the breeze while he danced. Shion suddenly felt the day's weight collapse on his shoulders. He was exhausted, hungry, and freezing cold. But he didn't want to leave, not yet. He wondered if Nezumi would be playing tomorrow. Maybe Shion could walk around the city a bit in the morning before coming back and observing Nezumi again.

"You hungry?" a gruff voice broke through Shion's thoughts.

"Sorry?" Shion said.

"You've been standing in the same spot all day and you haven't eaten. I would be starving," Nezumi commented, locking the latches of his instruments' cases.

"You haven't eaten either," Shion said, straightening his back against the chill.

"Exactly," Nezumi said, hoisting his pack up on his shoulders. "If we're both hungry, we might as well go together since I assume you have no idea where to get good food. I'd be damned if I let you eat at some shit tourist restaurant."

"I have a map…" Shion protested weakly.

"Maps are bull," Nezumi said calmly, looking at Shion with cold intensity. "I know a great café nearby. My treat."

"No, no, I can pay!" Shion said quickly. "You spent all day making that money. I don't want to take any of it."

"You're not taking it if I'm offering. Besides, you wasted five hours listening to a street musician. Come on."

Still a bit uneasy and a bit guilty, Shion followed Nezumi close behind. Even at nearly nine at night, Trafalgar still bustled with movement. Nezumi tucked his scarf around his face and wove his way through the crowd. People were stopping by pubs and shops talking and huddling together—braving the cold for a bit of entertainment and community.

The place Nezumi brought Shion to was small, slipped between a restaurant and some sort of antique store. The moment the door opened, Shion was bombarded by warmth and the smell of freshly baked bread. It must have been extremely popular because nearly all of the little round tables were taken and the line reached the entrance.

"I hope you like tea and sandwiches because that's what they have," Nezumi said, squeezing himself and his giant pack between the door and the wall of people inside.

"That sounds perfect!" Shion agreed enthusiastically.

It took about fifteen minutes for Shion and Nezumi to reach the front of the store. While they waited, Nezumi ducked out to place his pack and his instruments on the floor at an empty table. He kept his hawk-like gaze on it for the entirety of their time in line. Nezumi ordered some basic oolong tea with a hot corned beef sandwich and "biscuits"—though what biscuits would be doing with tea and sandwiches was beyond Shion. Shion asked for a pomegranate white tea with a cucumber sandwich. Shion was also incredibly embarrassed because Nezumi had to read half the menu to him.

The sandwich was delicious, as was the tea—soft and sweet, filling and a perfect match. Although not quite satiated, Shion found himself surrounded in the serene glow of eating just enough to placate his protesting stomach. Seeing that Shion had finished, Nezumi held out one of the shortbread-looking pieces of food he'd earlier referred to as "biscuits".

"Do you want one?"

"What is it?" Shion grimaced suspiciously.

"It's a biscuit," Nezumi answered.

"I thought biscuits were bread?"

"You gotta think slang here," Nezumi explained, breaking the biscuit in half and putting one of the shares on Shion's empty plate. "It's like a cookie."

"Why don't they just call it a cookie then?"

"Cookies are soft, like the hand-made ones. Biscuits are like shortbread," Nezumi clarified, dipping his in the remnants of his oolong. He took a bite out of it, closing his eyes as a smile slithered across his lips. "It's best if you dip it in your tea."

"I drank all of mine," Shion said, picking up his biscuit and eyeing it doubtfully.

Wordlessly, Nezumi pushed his own tea towards Shion and finished off the last of his biscuit. Not wanting to seem rude, and out of simple curiosity (he wasn't one to deny himself the pleasure of trying new things), he dipped the sweet into Nezumi's tea and took a bite. It was like the shortbread that his mother sometimes made in the winter—the sweet, browned kind that was best with hot chocolate and a warm fire. Shion took another from the plate in the middle of the table.

"Hey, don't eat all of them!" Nezumi taunted, the grin still lingering on his mouth. "Good, though, right?"

Unable to speak through the biscuits packing his cheeks like a chipmunk, Shion nodded enthusiastically and stuffed himself with the rest of his second helping.

"Glad you're enjoying yourself, your Highness. Leave some for me, though," Nezumi said, taking one himself and submerging a generous amount into what little remained of his tea.

"These are delicious, thank you," Shion said, wiping the crumbs from his lips.

Nezumi didn't answer. He continued to eat the biscuits, quietly observing the people still filtering into the small café. Looking from Nezumi's dark fringe to his cumbersome backpack and violin and cello cases, Shion realized something. Why would Nezumi be carrying all of his things…

His heart sank sickeningly.

Nezumi had mentioned that he didn't live anywhere, after all. Shion had assumed that he at least could afford a place to sleep. Perhaps he'd overestimated Nezumi's wealth. His chest felt tight, and something terrible stirred inside his stomach. Someone like Nezumi deserved a bed, if nothing else.

"Nezumi?" Shion said, catching the other boy's attention.

"Hmmm?" Nezumi responded, gazing at his surroundings.

"Do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?"

"In a sense," he answered, nonchalantly shoving another biscuit into his mouth.

"But you don't have a place with warm blankets and a roof, I'm guessing?" Shion pressed.

"Not exactly, no."

"Come stay with me."

Shion had caught Nezumi's attention. He looked back at Shion, still chewing on his treat, a forcedly passive look on his face.

"I don't need charity."

"It isn't charity," Shion explained, helping himself to one of the last biscuits on the plate. "You bought me dinner. I'm simply returning the favor."

"You're not indebted to me. I bought you dinner because you stood in a freezing cold square to watch me play music for five hours," Nezumi said, a harsh edge to his voice.

Shion was completely unperturbed.

"There are plenty of open beds where I'm staying. I don't want you sleeping out in the cold tonight, it isn't safe."

"You're acting like this is my first day on the streets," Nezumi sneered. "But, I'm not about to pass up a warm place to sleep. Where are you staying?"

"It's about half an hour from here, Astor Hyde Park."

"Never been."

And so Shion and Nezumi finished their plate of biscuits and gathered their things to go. Shion offered to help Nezumi carry his instruments, but the latter would have none of it.

"They're antique instruments—no one touches them but me."

They didn't talk much on the way back to the hostel. Shion had no idea what to say since Nezumi was completely non-compliant with answering any of his questions, and Nezumi sure wasn't offering up anything that might spark conversation. Any words that came out of their mouths were insignificant. Nezumi asked Shion where the hostel was. He also inquired if they had a good kitchen. Shion felt the need to continue to say pointless things every ten minutes, while Nezumi seemed completely apathetic about the silence.

It was a relief for Shion when they finally reached the hostel, drenched from the rain still pouring generously outside. The same receptionist was at the desk, this time unable to keep her eyes off of Nezumi. He smirked back at her, a positively wicked gleam in his eyes that stirred something uncomfortable inside Shion.

"Just make it to my room charge," Shion said, grabbing Nezumi's wrist and yanking him away from the counter.

There were still no other people in Shion's room, just the white sheets and burgundy bedposts for company. Nezumi dumped his bag and instruments on one of the empty beds, flopping down on the one opposite Shion. His eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled as though releasing all the built-up stress in his body.

"This is sure a hell of a lot better than sleeping outside in the pouring rain," Nezumi said, removing the scarves from his neck and hips. "You know, since you seem to enjoy questions so much, you shouldn't mind telling me why you're here from Japan. You said it's a long story, but we have time."

"I…I really should get to sleep though, and so should you! It's been over 24 hours since I've slept and you were playing all day."

"You're not weaseling your way out of this," Nezumi said, eyes still tightly shut.

Shion sighed.

"I decided to take a gap year before heading off to uni," Shion told him, studying a screw on his bedframe as though it were a flower petal under a microscope. "I've…never been outside Nox—the city where I was born. I decided it was time for me to get out of there. It was stupid really, completely reckless. Even now that I'm actually sitting on a cot in London I can't believe I actually went through with it."

"Why did you?"

"Huh?"

"Go through with it? You don't seem like the kind of person to make spur-of-the-moment decisions like that," Nezumi observed.

He opened his eyes, looking at Shion with that gaze like liquid mercury.

"I'm honestly not sure either," Shion said, locking stares with Nezumi. "It just kind of happened and now here I am. What about you?"

"I'm not giving a tragic backstory," Nezumi sneered.

"I'm not asking for one," Shion responded.

"What then?"

"Are you a gypsy?"

"Not exactly," Nezumi said, rotating his eyes to scrutinize the ceiling.

"Then what?" Shion pressed relentlessly.

"Good lord you never give up, do you? You're like a child."

"Don't patronize me," Shion spouted back, frustrated. "I'm paying for you to stay the night here. I just want to know a few things—they aren't really all that personal anyway."

"Okay," Nezumi yielded, sitting up on the bed and scratching the back of his head with a thoughtful expression. "I'm a gypsy, but also not a gypsy. I'm not exactly allowed in any sort of Roma group anymore though."

"Why?" Shion asked, his head falling to one side like a confused puppy.

"I had sex."

"What?" Shion questioned. "They can kick you out for that?"

"Gypsies believe the bottom half of the body is impure," Nezumi explained, shedding his damp coat and flinging it onto the ground. "And I like having sex. A lot of it. I get around a lot, too, so there are a lot of prominent Roma groups who know me. I couldn't get in with any of them even if I wanted to."

"Oh," Shion nodded, taking off his own wet cardigan. "I didn't know that was a part of the culture."

"Roma culture is very poorly understood. So I'm just a lowly street musician now." Nezumi snickered, and Shion saw something dark flash across his eyes. "I don't spend much time in one place, so I'll be leaving London the day after tomorrow."

"Leaving?" Shion asked, inexplicable disappointment panging in his chest. "Where are you going next?"

"Not sure," Nezumi replied, falling back on the pure sheets, hands clasped behind his head. "I was thinking France. I haven't been there in a while, and the Chunnel ends up in Paris anyway."

"Let me go with you."

Shion blurted out the request before the thought finished formulating in his mind. Propping himself up on his elbows, Nezumi's smirk contorted into an expression of genuine surprise.

"You don't know what you're saying," Nezumi said, shaking his head. "Unlike you, I'm not on a vacation. This is my life."

"I know that," Shion replied, unwavering. "I'm not trying to say it isn't."

"Then what?"

"I don't really have anywhere to go. I didn't plan this trip at all other than buying my plane ticket here. I want to see Europe—not just the part that everyone else sees. I want to know what it's like through the eyes of someone who has to sleep and perform on the streets," Shion explained fervently, his words getting faster and more excited as he talked. "I really want to go with you, Nezumi. Besides, I have enough money to pay for food and lodging. You wouldn't have to sleep on the streets again."

Nezumi hesitated. While Shion knew that the promise of housing was appealing, Nezumi still looked incredibly unsure. His steel eyes betrayed nothing of what was going on inside his head: a silver, impenetrable wall.

"I travel alone. I'm not about to babysit someone," he said uneasily.

"I'm not a little kid," Shion replied calmly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing Nezumi resolutely. "I may not know much about Europe or traveling, but I'm not helpless. I'm good at adapting. I wouldn't be a burden to you. And if you're worried about maintaining privacy and self-sufficiency, it isn't like I'm going to be with you every second of every day."

Nezumi didn't respond straightaway. Shion waited patiently, watching Nezumi as he ran his fingers through his grey-blue hair. As if to work out his thoughts through his hands, he reached up and undid his ponytail. The charcoal strands fell around his shoulders in a messy flood of dark color—oddly feminine, Shion noted.

"Alright, Shion," Nezumi said, ripping apart the knots in his hair with his hands, "you got a deal. But let's clear something up: I'm not about to get all cuddly. If you start getting too close and hold me back, I'm out. Okay?"

"As long as you show me where to eat good pastries, I don't care," Shion grinned, and Nezumi chuckled.

"You're really weird, Shion," Nezumi commented, flopping back on the bed, eyes closed.

"So I've been told," Shion mumbled, tucking himself under his own sheets.

It was impossible for Shion to recall when he passed from wakefulness to sleep. The entire day flashed through his mind like a dream, filling his unconscious mind. In the morning, Shion didn't want to open his eyes because he didn't know which images were real and which were fabrications of his dreams. He dreaded the idea of waking up and seeing an empty bed where Nezumi should have been.

When he got up the courage to peek through his eyelids, he saw a dark mass on the bed across from him. Exhaling in relief, Shion allowed his eyes to open completely. Shion rolled to the side, observing Nezumi's sleeping form. His back was facing Shion, sides rising up and down as he snored obnoxiously. The smooth rhythm of Nezumi's breathing, the way his tousled hair fell gracefully down his back, the little scraggy noises he made in his sleep—they made something warm swell up in Shion's chest.

He watched Nezumi sleep until he woke up an hour later.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: In Which London has an Eye**

Much to Shion's dismay, Nezumi decided that he wanted to leave for France a day early, giving Shion until that evening to do all the sight-seeing he wanted. Still jet-lagged, Shion protested the lack of time, but Nezumi wouldn't budge. When he asked Nezumi resignedly what essential things he needed to see before they left, Nezumi scorned most of the common tourist destinations except for…

"The London Eye," Nezumi commanded, throwing on a black, buckled leather jacket and his charismatic scarves. "It's incredibly cliché but there's a good reason for it. The view is unbelievable. You're okay with heights, yeah?"

"I love them!" Shion answered from the bathroom, careful to conceal his face and hair from Nezumi. That day he chose a forest green hat Safu told him complemented his eyes.

"Perfect. I don't care what else you do as long as you go there." Nezumi scribbled the directions to the London Eye from the Tube to get to the London eye.

Assuming that the London Eye was some kind of huge building, Shion was incredibly confused when he ended up at the largest Ferris wheel he'd ever seen. Bewildered, Shion asked the teller if he was at the correct location, to which the latter laughed.

"You're not European are you? I suppose I should have known that from your accent but I never assume. But yes, you're at the right place."

No matter how much Shion loved heights, looking up at the enormous wheel made Shion nervous. Flipping through his atlas, Shion found a page dedicated to the most interesting landmarks near Britain, including a small blurb about the London Eye. According to the blurb the London eye stretched 135 meters above the ground and was Europe's largest Ferris wheel. Shion gulped.

The Eye offered one of the highest views on the continent, which excited Shion, but he preferred stationary views as opposed to a giant metal wheel that could theoretically unhinge itself and send him spiraling off to his death. The only reason he was able to shakily hand the teller some of the cash he'd gotten from the hostel's ATM this morning was because he recited to himself, _a Ferris wheel of this size would use Stockbridge dampers in order to keep the wheel from shaking. Yes, I can see them, that will keep it from falling to one side or the other which makes it perfectly safe. Coupled with..._

Before he knew it, he was sitting in a car with several other tourists speaking a myriad of languages that sounded like nothing more than gibberish to Shion. Nezumi was right, though, the view was absolutely spectacular. He could see the city sprawling out like the branches of crystallized ice before him. That same sense of wonder that had overcome him on the plane made another appearance now, causing his heart to soar and a stream of laughter to fly from his mouth.

He felt giddy up there, euphoric even. He pressed his entire body up against the glass, soaking in the glory of London as the buildings got smaller and smaller. People scurried like ants beneath him as his car reached its apex. It was dizzying to be up so high in that cage-like car; so close to the world but not quite able to participate in it.

An irresistible urge to wrench the doors open and fling himself like a bird into the open air overcame Shion. He was about to latch his fingers into the door when a small child came giggling up beside him and shoved him out of the way to get a better look outside. Her parents apologized to Shion, but somewhere he felt tension unknot in his chest. What the in the world had just happened? He decided to sit down until the car reached the ground again, admiring the view from a much safer spot.

The trip took a total of about a half an hour, during which Shion's eyes wandered from ground to building to sky to person to ground and back again. A mental map began to form in his head of interesting places he saw that could be fun to visit. When he made it back to the ground and exited the glass-walled Ferris wheel carriage, he had a working map in his head of the places he wanted to go.

Shion decided it was best to keep his sightseeing closer to the ground. The natural history museum near the Astor Hyde Park hostel was an entertaining spot for Shion—he was particularly interested in the more westernized view of natural history. He visited several shops and a few little cafes simply to enjoy the atmosphere—it was an entirely new world compared to his small corner of Japan.

Finally, when the sun was making its descent behind the tall buildings near Trafalgar square, Shion decided it was time to find Nezumi. It didn't take him long since Nezumi had decided to fashion two vibrantly magenta scarves around his neck and waist. He looked not unlike a glorious tropical bird in flight, Shion noted. The scarves extended from his body like wings as he twirled about his rug, shredding his bow with the speed of his playing. Shion made a mental note to ask how many bows Nezumi went through in a given week—he wondered how he could possibly afford them all.

It wasn't until the street lamps created that same surreal image of tens of tiny suns swirling about in the puddles that Nezumi ceased his performance. Shion was amazed at how he managed to muster enough stamina every day to dance and play like that.

"I still don't understand how you're able to do that every day," Shion remarked, leaning on the same potted plant as the day before.

"It's just a part of the lifestyle," Nezumi shrugged, packing up his things.

Shion noticed that Nezumi had grabbed his luggage that morning. The vibrantly orange bags were nestled up against Nezumi's pack. Shion was strangely touched.

"Thanks for grabbing those," Shion said, gesturing towards his bags.

"I wanted to be able to leave straight from here," Nezumi replied, hoisting his pack up onto his shoulders and grabbing the cello and violin cases. "Shall we?"

Nezumi still didn't talk all the way to Piccadilly station, or on the train to the international Channel Tunnel station. Shion was also unsure of what to offer as far as conversation. He was still soaking in the antiquity of the buildings and roads, the oddly detached nature of the people even as they were smashed together on the Tube, and the small bits of conversation he picked up, muttered in the midst of crowds. Nezumi seemed almost bored by it all, so Shion internalized everything. He didn't want Nezumi to think he was a wide-eyed child—the gypsy might have left him behind.

"You look like you have a squirrel running around in your jeans," Nezumi noted, finally breaking the silence.

Despite its vulgarity, Shion sighed in relief at the comment.

"I'm just excited I guess," Shion remarked as they passed out of the train and into the impressively crowded station.

"You're a bad liar," Nezumi observed, snaking through the narrow alleys between people with expert precision.

"I don't know what to talk about," Shion confessed loudly, struggling to keep up.

"It isn't like there's a 'right' thing to say. Just speak your mind—to hell with everything else," Nezumi told him, his voice resorting to a yell.

"Okay," Shion conceded stridently, still apprehensive. "Well, to be honest I wish I'd gotten more time to—"

"Dammit I can't hear you!" Nezumi called over the rising roar of the mass of humanity surging through the station. "Hold it until we get on the train! Don't fall behind!"

A barrage of sights and sounds slapped Shion fiercely across the face. Living in a bustling Japanese city, Shion was used to being in the middle of crowds. His height had accustomed him to being buffeted around like a Ping-Pong ball in those mobs as well. This wasn't what alarmed him; what alarmed him slightly was the wave of languages that swept over him. He caught only snatched of English amongst a swarm of other harsh noises that meant nothing to him.

Coupled with the fact that Nezumi had become nothing more than a blurred flash of pink, Shion's entire body tensed. His muscles and lungs recalled the same feeling they'd experienced when he'd gotten lost at the Heathrow airport. The air left his lungs and sailed away into the tornado of people surrounding him on all sides.

Nezumi's scarf completely disappeared between two exceptionally tall men. It didn't reappear this time.

Shion swallowed the sickeningly bitter taste at the back of his throat. Battling the instinct to yell out and charge through the multitudes like a bowling ball through pins, Shion continued. He tried to aim himself in the general direction in which he'd last seen Nezumi's scarf vanish.

His chest heaved. Sweat began to prickle his skin, percolating on his forehead and trickling down his cheeks. His hands reached out to sift through thee people in front of him, desperate to catch even a hint of bright magenta. He was alone and lost again, and both of these things made him pulse quicken. He heard the blood rush through his ears, and his feet involuntarily picked up speed.

Where was he supposed to go?

Although he knew it wouldn't help him, Shion reached into the back pocket of his jeans and clutched at his atlas. He wasn't sure why, but a small amount of the strain in his muscles loosened as he felt the glossy cover brush his fingers. He gripped the volume tightly, and kept going.

A fiercely strong arm wound around his waist without warning. Not thinking but simply acting, Shion thrust his elbow backwards. It was stopped by a stiff, calloused hand.

"It's me," a gruff voice crooned in his ear. "Come on; let me lead. I'm not going to lose you."

Shion's heart was still thundering in his chest, but he felt much calmer. Relief filled every facet of his body. Oddly enough, the place where Nezumi's hand held his side in a firm but gentle grip, burned. He wondered if Nezumi was abnormally hot from being crammed in between so many people.

With Nezumi as their guide, the two travelers found their way through the last mass of people and into the openness of the actual station.

It was stunning. Shion thought it looked almost like a small village; little shops and cafes were nestled in the aged brick walls on either side of the huge atrium of the station. Crimson brick was broken up by archways embellished with cream and scarlet—molding outlining each elegant archway. This area consisted of two levels, with the first floor opened up to the second like a shopping mall. Overhead, glass panels allowed sunlight to stream in through the roof, showering the atrium in light.

Shion's mouth fell open. It was enormous.

"Wow," he said intelligently.

"I agree," Nezumi said, releasing his waist. Shion found himself missing the feeling of Nezumi's hand. "Even I never get tired of this place. It's one of my favorite stations in Europe. Definitely my favorite in England."

Shion nodded, eyes still searching every last corner of the gorgeous station. Nezumi said nothing, allowing Shion to enjoy the splendor for several minutes. When Shion was satisfied with his survey of the scenery, he looked back at Nezumi, positively glowing.

"It's really beautiful in here," he smiled. "Where do we buy our tickets?"

"We don't," Nezumi elucidated, whipping two slips of paper from one of his jacket pockets. "You can save a great deal of money buying your tickets in advance. I bought them this morning."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," Shion said, feeling guilty that Nezumi spent his hard-earned money on him.

"Just buy me dinner tonight and we're even," Nezumi winked.

Shion couldn't help but laugh.

Before he knew it, they were hauling their luggage onto the train with hundreds of other people. Shion's ears picked so many languages, he'd stopped trying to glean any English from the passengers. Instead, he enjoyed Nezumi's company—the gypsy seemed much more willing to talk after their little adventure.

"What were you going to say before got lost in that mob?" Nezumi asked, setting down his instruments on the seat beside him as though handling sheets of crystal.

"I was just going to say I wish I'd seen more of London," Shion explained, resting his orange suitcase on his leg and settling down beside Nezumi.

"You can always come back here," Nezumi pointed out, reclining in his seat. "Did you at least go to the Eye?"

"Yeah!" Shion exclaimed, attracting the attention of several of the patrons around them. "Yeah, I did. It was so high up. I had no idea there were Ferris wheels that huge."

"I love going up there," Nezumi agreed. "I always make it a point to take a trip up when I come to London. There's something intoxicating about being up so high, don't you think?"

Shion nodded eagerly, just as the train shuddered forward, beginning their journey down the tracks. Nezumi rested his arms on the backs of the seats, his fingers brushing Shion's shoulder. Again, a burning sensation, like that of being too close to a fire, lit up the nerves beneath his cardigan. Cocking his head to the side, Shion scrutinized Nezumi's skin. It was as pale as ever. Shion was incredibly confused. If his hands were as hot as they felt on Shion, they should have been flushed somehow. Gazing out the window as the station whipped by and out of sight, Shion contemplated this phenomenon. Perhaps he was feverish from the jet lag that still hummed quietly in the peripheral of his body.

_Yes,_ he decided resolutely. _Jet lag can cause some odd symptoms, after all._

He absently hoped the effects would wear off soon.


End file.
